


Of Telperinquar and the Maiden of Nan Elmoth

by Eastern_Lights



Series: Tales of Telperinquar [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Horses, Injury, Injury Recovery, Loneliness, The Noldor, The Sindar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastern_Lights/pseuds/Eastern_Lights
Summary: It was the four hundred and tenth year of the Sun. Many a great hero lived in the land of Beleriand in those days. One might mention Fingolfin the High King or perhaps the Seven sons of Fëanor. However, this account tells the story of one, whose name would not be known until the Second age. Little did anyone realize that he would one day shape the future of Middle-earth.
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Tales of Telperinquar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814752
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	1. Memories of Aman

A dark-haired elf sat near a dying campfire on crossed legs. His clothing was simple and unadorned, but obviously well made. The only item that might have tempted a thief was a gold-and-silver pendant in the shape of an eight-pointed star, with which the man was now absent-mindedly playing. It was almost dawn and he had abandoned all hope of falling back asleep. He would have to set out soon anyway, as he still had many miles to cover on his way to Himlad.   
"Have I ever told you the story of how I came to Beleriand?" he asked. His horse simply stared at him blankly.  
"Probably not," the elf concluded, letting go of his pendant, "It is not something I talk about often. Do you know of Aman? The Western shores? I was born there, you know."  
The horse blinked. He took it as an encouragement and continued:   
"There I was a different person. In the West, I was Telperinquar, a prince of the Noldor, third in line to the throne of Finwë. Not that I had ever wished to rule, but still...   
I was but a child when my grandfather chose to lead his family into exile. I shall never forget my father asking me whether I wanted to go on an adventure. Of course I agreed. I had only seen twelve winters by then! I was curious of this dark and wild land in the far East. I had not realized that I would never come back. Here I am hated, just as my family is. Here I am Celebrimbor Curufinnion, one of the Noldorin kinslayers. Even among my own, I am but a lesser son of greater fathers. Any blood of Fëanor that flows in my veins is very diluted at best and... " he sighed, "And whatever I say, you are still just a horse, are you not, Lairë?"  
The chesnut-coloured mare snorted and started nibbling at the grass between her front hooves. Telperinquar smiled.  
"Indeed," he said and started rolling up the blanket he had been sleeping on. No use waiting for dawn. The journey would not get any shorter with sunlight.  
Just as he finished strapping his saddlebags to Lairë, he noticed that the animal was unusually tense. She stared unblinking into the darkness behind him. He looked, but saw nothing there. He patted the mare's flank.  
"What is it, girl? What is it?"  
He felt rather than heard a twang of a bowstring. Turning around, he drew his sword in a flash and slashed in front of himself. There was a metallic clang and the elf saw two halves of a black arrow hit the ground at the edge of his vision.   
He threw himself into the grass, hissed a command at Lairë, and the horse followed him. Telperinquar slowly reached for his own bow and quiver strapped to Lairë's saddle. More arrows swished over his head. He carefully strung the weapon, nocked an arrow and listened. The servants of Morgoth moved silently, but the Noldo had fought his first battle at sixteen years old and his hearing was keen and his aim was true. One orc stepping on a twig was all he needed to push himself up onto his knees, let loose the arrow and hide in the grass again before the shot landed. There was a gurgling sound as the arrow hit its mark.  
"Silence, maggots!" barked another orc, "The elf will-!"   
He got cut off by an arrow sticking out of his eye.   
Telperinquar heard his enemies growling. A moment later, the ugly sounds of their horns and heavy boots stomping echoed through the wilderness. The elf jumped to his feet and once again drew his sword.  
He could see the orcs now, as the first rays of sunlight finally started creeping over the treetops of Nan Elmoth in the distance. There were about two dozens, and they were outstandingly big and ugly. With throaty war cries, they ran directly at him. The first one to reach Telperinquar had his stomach cut open and his head on the ground before he could bring down the blade he had raised high over his head. All who challenged the Noldo could exchange two blows at most before being slain. Some tried to kill Lairë first, seeing the horse as the easier target. They were gravely mistaken, as she was a descendant of the great steeds Telperinquar's people had brought with them from the West and as such was bred for war. She kicked and stomped and headbutted the enemies and soon turned out to be almost as deadly as her master.  
They were close to eliminating their foes. But just as the elf had removed the head of one of the five last orcs, he felt sudden, sharp, burning pain just under his right collarbone. He gasped and fell to his knees. A black arrow was stuck deep in his flesh. There were two of them, he thought. How could I have missed that?   
With teary eyes, Telperinquar saw the archer grinning savagely. Another orc attempted to run him through, only to be rewarded with a violent kick from Lairë in his groin. The attacker screamed and fell to the ground. Another arrow whooshed by the elf's ear. He forced himself back to his feet. Already, he could feel unnatural cold spreading from his wound. He had to get away, had to... get...  
Using his left arm, he climbed onto Lairë, turned her towards the triumphant archer and commanded:  
"Go, Lairë! Go!"  
He need not have repeated himself. The mare set out faster than the northern wind. The orc's expression shifted from perverse joy to fear just a moment before Telperinquar somewhat awkwardly took his sword in his left hand, and slashed his throat. Lairë did not even slow down.   
Both of them could hear the remaining orcs' angry voices behind them getting closer.  
Telperinquar managed to sheathe his weapon and leaned against his steed's neck. He could feel his strength fading and the edges of his vision starting to grow blurry. Was the arrow poisoned? Or did he simply loose a lot of blood? He was not at all certain.   
"Run, Lairë..." he murmured. He needed to loose the pursuers and soon. She obeyed gladly, but the orcs were unnaturally fast. Their shouts grew no more distant.  
After a while, Telperinquar could not even lift his head because of the pain it caused him. All he could do was stare blankly at the grass running by under Lairë's hooves.  
Suddenly, the grass grew dark. At first he thought he was loosing consciousness, but then he realized that they had simply entered a dense forest. Finally, the sounds of their pursuers grew silent, then faded. Lairë slowed down into a walk, then stopped. Her sides heaved as she fought to catch her breath. Telperinquar reached to pat the side of her neck.  
"You did it, girl, you..."  
His vision grew even darker. The last thing he could feel was the forest spinning around him and then a short fall.


	2. Enemy of my Enemy

Meanwhile, at the western edge of the forest Nan Elmoth, four orcs paced along the shadow of the trees. They were loath to leave their quarry to escape, but despite their love of darkness, they did not enter this forest.  
Nan Elmoth, or "Stardust vale" in the Common speech was the home of Eöl, also called the Dark elf. Orcs did not know many elf-lords by name, but this one they knew, and feared. He lived alone, loathed sunlight and was reputed to hate the Noldor almost as much as he hated orcs.  
The orcish chief grinned. Perhaps the prince they had been hunting would not escape death after all. He barked a command at the remaining three, and they started marching toward their dark homeland in the North.  
* * *  
Lairë may have been, as Telperinquar had put it, just a horse, but she loved her master and undestood that, unless she found some help for him, he would be dead in a matter of hours.  
So, with strength that only despair can give you, she took the back of his tunic in her teeth and started dragging him deeper into the forest. She was exhausted, but did not stop, pulling her master's limp body over thick roots and rocks.  
She managed quite a distance, but finally, her strength faded and her knees buckled. She laid in the forest grass next to Telperinquar. He was pale as death and beads of sweat had formed on his brow.  
Lairë gently nudged his face with her soft muzzle in an attempt to wake him up. Nothing happened. So the horse did the last thing she could do - she let out a long, mournful cry that echoed throughout the dark forest.  
And again and again, until she could not continue.  
And yet as the mare lay there at last determined to die along with the elven-prince, a slim figure clad in a black, hooded cloak emerged from among the trees. It had a long bow and a quiver across its back. It looked around briefly, then ran towards them. The hood fell down, and revealed an elven woman with hair like polished steel and bright eyes of the same colour. Concern shone in those eyes as she knelt by Telperinquar and started examining his wound. Suddenly, she gasped and her hand jerked back. What she had seen was a gold-and-silver pendant around the man's neck. It was an eight-pointed star, the sigil of the House of Fëanor the Kinslayer.   
The woman pressed her lips into a thin line. With a delicate hand, she reached to her waist and drew a long dagger.  
Lairë was far too weak to intervene, and only whimpered softly in protest.  
The dagger darted towards Telperinquar's heart... and stopped. After a moment that seemed to last an eternity, the blade started to shake, along with its wielder's hands. Tears stung her eyes. Painfully slowly, she removed the weapon. She looked at it, then threw it away in sudden disgust. Then she took a deep breath.  
She turned to Lairë and took off her saddle and saddle-bags. She spoke to her in a language the horse had never heard before, but somehow, by the time the woman had finished, she knew not to worry about Telperinquar any longer, and that once she was rested, she should go south, and there she would find soft and juicy grass. She nodded to the elf maid, who smiled and turned back to Telperinquar. With difficulties, but ultimately successfully, she lifted him in her arms and carried him away yet deeper into the forest.


	3. The Maiden of Nan Elmoth

The maiden's destination was but a short distance away, but even so, by the time she had reached her home, she felt as though her arms were about to fall off and her calves burnt as if filled with embers.   
She strode through the beautifully carved gate, through a courtyard, past a smithy and several stairways up, until she reached a door covered in a thick layer of dust. It brought back painful memories, but she chased them away and kicked it open. The large bedroom was in a much better state than the door. The silver-haired elf stumbled over to the bed and dropped the woulded man onto it. He was breathing shallowly and irregularly and his pale face glistened with cold sweat. There was no time to waste.  
"What am I doing..." she murmured to herself, rolling up her sleeves.  
The Maiden of Nan Elmoth would later state that these were the hardest two hours of her life. First, she ran as fast as she could for clean cloths to stop the bleeding, then to heat up some water, all the while desperately hoping the Noldo would not die while she was gone. She should not have cared. Not with all she knew of his people. That they were usurpers and warmongers and the Sons of Fëanor were the worst of the lot. Had anyone asked her a week before what she would do in a situation she found herself in now, without hesitation, she would have had said she would kill him.  
But she could not. Not as she saw him lay there already dying.  
So she carefully removed the arrow, stitched the wound up as best as she could and covered it with a thick layer of a healing salve, that would hopefully counter any poison that might have coated the arrowhead.  
Already, his breathing grew calmer, deeper.  
She carefully started taking off his tunic, which she had only cut a hole in to quickly start stitching, to dress his wound.  
He groaned as she lifted him into a sitting position, but his eyes remained closed.  
She found that bandaging a body that not only did not cooperate, but did nothing at all was no easy task, but even so, she was done in but a moment.  
Fairly certain now, that the man was not going to die within the next fifteen minutes, she gathered the bloody rags and went to get some fresh water and clean sheets.  
Clean of blood and sweat and in a clean bed, the elf looked much better.  
Thr maiden allowed herself a deep breath of relief. Even so, she refused to leave his side. She told herself in was because she could not let a fëanorian alone in her father's house unsupervised. She eased herself into a chair next to his bed. All her exhaustion suddenly fell on her. Despite struggling not to and despite it being barely afternoon, she fell asleep in but a moment.  
* * *  
Telperinquar awoke to dull pain throbbing through the whole right half of his upper body. He gritted his teeth and reached to touch his shoulder. To his surprise, he found that it had been bandaged with soft fabric. He carefully opened his eyes. He was in a spacious bedroom with a large window, which, despite its size, let in but a small amount of light. The furniture was of foreign-looking, but still clearly elven design. And to Telperinquar's right sat on a carven chair a young elven woman dressed in a simple mahogany red gown. She was leaning over a book and seemed not to notice him. He immediately marked her as one of the Sindar, the Grey-elves of Doriath and Falas, for silver hair such as hers could one find only in that people. He tried to speak, but all that left his lips was an unintelligible rasp. He cleared his throat.  
The maiden looked up in surprise, but said nothing, only put her book aside. She did not even meet his gaze.  
"Thank you," he said in sindarin. Silence.  
"It was you who saved me, was it not?" he tried again. She showed no sign of understanding.   
"May I know your name?"  
The woman rose and poured a goblet of water from a carafe on the bedside table. She handed it to him and he gratefully accepted. With the first sip he realized that he must not have had a drink of water in days and finished the goblet in but a moment.   
"It is strange to be shown such kindness by one of the people who think of us as nothing more than bandits and invaders."  
The woman winced.   
"So you do understand sindarin," he concluded.   
"I am Tel-" he cut himself off.  
"Celebrimbor. My name is Celebrimbor Curufinnion."  
Still no reply. Celebrimbor felt like he was talking to Lairë again.   
Thinking of Lairë...  
"Do you know what fate befell my horse? We arrived together, I believe, and I would hate to lose her."  
The silver-haired elf frowned and said reluctantly:  
"Your beast is alive and well, son of Curufin, in the grasslands to the south of Nan Elmoth. It was her that brought you to me. She deserves your thanks."  
"And she shall receive them," he said, "but so shall you."  
"As you wish. But make no mistake. Your kin are not welcome in Nan Elmoth or any lands of King Thingol."   
"Still, you saved me. Why?"  
She opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again.   
"You must be starving. I shall return shortly with something to replenish your strength," she said not unkindly, but still distantly, like she was talking to a disease-ridden stray dog. Only once she reached the door did she turn and add:  
"You may call me Narnîn."  
As soon as she left the room, she let out a sigh. What would her father think? Talking to kin of Fëanor... Still, Celebrimbor was the only other person she had seen in many years. Since her father left. She had never thought how starved she would become for company, anyone's company.  
So she tried to forget about who her guest was, at least for now.


	4. Of Trust and Swords

Days passed and Celebrimbor was soon strong enough to walk. Narnîn started taking him on walks under the ancient trees of Nan Elmoth, because breathing free air would, according to her, speed up the healing process. Celebrimbor seemed quite ready to believe her, as he was feeling better by the hour.  
Narnîn was glad for his speedy recovery, though not because it meant he could leave soon. She started truly caring about his well-being and found it difficult to watch whenever he winced in pain as he instinctively tried to move his shoulder. Initially, her feelings greatly disturbed her. After all, that one of Fëanor's could be a decent person went against everything she had ever been taught. But taking care of the noldorin prince filled her with a new sense of self, doing what she thought right, beyond her father's wishes.  
Unbeknownst to Narnîn, Celebrimbor also found that he was growing quite fond of her, and it hurt him to never see her smile, to be painfully aware of her mistrust of him.   
Almost three weeks after they had met, he could not bear it anymore.  
"I am no kinslayer," he told her as they walked through the dark forest. Narnîn looked at him confusedly.  
"I never said you were," she replied.  
"But you believe it, do you not?"   
He took her by the shoulder and turned her towards him, forcing her to look into his eyes. Her own widened in fear and her body stiffened, but she made no attempt to break free.  
"I know not what you have been told of my people, but I swear by Manwë King of Kings that this is the truth: Fëanor, my grandfather, led us all from the Far West in pursuit of the dark lord Morgoth. By the time we reached the shore where the telerin elves lived, Fëanor demanded they give us their ships so that we could sail over the sea. They refused. In his thirst for revenge on the dark lord, Fëanor and his sons slaughtered the Teleri and took their ships by force. But I was but a child then. I was told of my family's deeds only after we had reached Beleriand. I do not defend their actions and I never will and I beg you to believe me that my people are not all murderers."   
His words hung between them for what felt like a medium-sized eternity. Perhaps she did not believe him. Finally two large tears rolled down Narnîn's cheeks.  
"Never have I been so glad to have been so wrong," she said.  
She felt suddenly ashamed of herself, to have had judged an entire people by the actions of eight of them. But she could change, and she would.  
"Come with me," she told Celebrimbor.  
"Where?"  
"Just come!"  
Taking him by his left hand, she led him back to her home and into the small smithy in the corner of the courtyard. There, on a workbench, Celebrimbor's sword awaited them. Narnîn had never really planned on giving it back to him, afraid he might use it against her, but now she took it and held it out to him.  
"I took the liberty of cleaning it of the orc-blood and sharpening it," she said, almost apologetically. He took the weapon carefully.  
"Thank you, but... why would you bother yourself so?"  
She smiled.   
"I may have not thought much good of you, but I can appreciate a beautiful sword. Such a weapon does not deserve to be left in a bad shape."   
Just like you. she added in the privacy of her mind.   
Celebrimbor drew the sword slowly and examined the blade closely.   
"As I brought your saddlebags here, I could not but notice the tools you travel with," Narnîn said, "Are you a blacksmith?"   
He smiled.  
"I try to be. A blacksmith, a jewelsmith, a metallurgist, an engraver... One is expected to live up to being the blood of both Fëanor and Curufin."  
Something about how critically he looked at the sword made her ask:  
"Have you made it?"  
He nodded reluctantly.  
"It is beautiful, as I said. I think you are a great smith in your own right."  
Celebrimbor bowed his head in thanks, but did not seem to believe her. He turned his attention back to the blade.  
"The finish looks even smoother than before," he remarked, "Are you a smith?"  
"Heavens no! But my father is, and he taught me enough to help him grinding and polishing the blades, etching and engraving. He had always found such work boring."  
He was silent for a moment as if thinking what to say. He sheathed the sword and sat down on a bench by the wall. Narnîn followed.  
"I have been wondering," he said carefully, "How has it come to pass that you live all alone here? Where is Eöl who rules this land? Where is your father? And whose bed do I sleep in every night?"  
She sighed.  
"You ask difficult questions, son of Curufin. But know at least that the first two are one and the same. I am the daughter of Eöl Mornedhel and, in his absence, the Lady of Nan Elmoth."   
Celebrimbor turned to look at her, his eyes wide.  
"'His absence'? He had not come back?"  
"What do you mean? Have you seen him?" Narnîn asked, unspoken hope in her voice.  
"A long time ago. I would have expected him to be back here by now. And what of his wife, Aredhel? Your mother?"  
She gripped his healthy shoulder.  
"No more questions! If you know something of my father, you need to tell me!"   
He held up his hand in an attempt to calm her.  
"I know very little, Narnîn. But if we piece what we know together, we might just be able to tell whole story."  
Narnîn hung her head between her shoulders. She did not feel entirely comfortable reliving those moments, but for the sake of knowing her father's fate, she took a deep breath and said:  
"I will tell you how it all started."


	5. Narnîn's story

It was the year 299 of the Sun and Eöl the Dark elf was just returning from his year long visit in the dwarven kingdom of Belegost. He was in a good mood, for his stay had been very productive and he had learned much from the local smiths. Still, he was looking forward to coming home. The picture of his wife appeared in his mind as his horse carried him closer to her. She was called Reinin of the Kinn-Lai, for Kinn-Lai were the tribe of wild avarin elves of the east she was descended from. Her hair and eyes were dark as coal and her full lips always wore a hint of a smile.  
Along with a few servants and apprentices, she was his only company since he had left Doriath. But he neither wanted, nor needed more.  
As he finally approached the front gate, he took a moment to breathe in the forest air. It smelled like home. The gate opened, but it was not Reinin who greeted him.  
It was instead one of his servants. The petite woman looked like she was on the verge of tears as she ran towards him. Eöl's throat tightened.  
He leapt from his horse.  
"What happened?" he asked, growing more worried by the second. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Tears started falling down her cheeks. He took her by the shoulders and shook her.  
"What happened, Miluneth? Tell me!"  
"My lord, I am so sorry..." she managed in between her sobs.  
"What is it?!" Eöl roared, though he already suspected. He wanted answers, but was terrified of them at the same time.  
"My lady... my lady is gone... She left this world three months ago..."  
Eöl, the Dark elf, Lord of Nan Elmoth fell to his knees.  
No...  
"NO!"  
* * *  
About six hours later, Eöl was still kneeling by the simple grave his people had made for Reinin. He had depleted all his tears long before, so now he just sat there, his head down, raven hair falling over his face. He had forbidden Miluneth and the others from disturbing him. He wanted to be alone. He was going to be alone, no matter how many people he would surround himself with.  
"My lord," came the voice of another of his people. Eöl did not bother himself to try and recall his name at the time.  
"Leave."  
"My lord, there is a matter that requires your attention."  
Was he being serious?  
"I care not. Leave me be," Eöl snapped.  
"My lord, please. It is cold out here and we have made fire inside. We all worry for you."  
Oh what did it matter. Nothing mattered anymore.  
Eöl pushed himself up to his feet and with a last lingering look at his beloved's final resting place, he followed the young man inside.  
Once they reached the common room with a large fireplace, Eöl's eyes widened in astonishment.  
There, in a chair of carven wood sat Miluneth, and in her arms a little babe, at most a few months old. He slowly walked closer to them as if enchanted. Miluneth rose to meet him, and from the moment he saw the babe's sqinting grey eyes, he knew it was of his own blood. He took the precious bundle in his arms.  
"Your daughter, my lord," Miluneth murmured. For the first time since his arrival, Eöl smiled, and new tears started forming in his eyes.  
"How?" he managed to ask.  
"Shortly after your departure, the lady realized she was with child, my lord," said the young man. Alagos was his name, Eöl remembered.  
"When the babe was due, she went for a walk in the woods, accompanied by two of your apprentices," Alagos continued, "They were attacked by giant spiders, who had wandered into your lands from the North. The lady survived, but eventually succumbed to the spiders' venom. She asked us to at least save the child, which we did. I am... so sorry we could not do more, my lord."  
Eöl's tears fell upon his daughter's sleeping face.  
"What of the creatures?" he asked.  
"Dead, my lord. Hwinnion, Faelas and myself have hunted them down."  
"Good..." Eöl said, his eyes never leaving his daughter. Then:  
"Has my lady given her a name?"  
"No, my lord," said Miluneth, "but we have been calling her Elmothriel."  
The name meant Star-dust princess or Princess of Nan Elmoth.  
"Elmothriel... A good name," Eöl considered, "Still..."   
Suddenly, he noticed the way the dancing flames in the fireplace were reflected in his tears on the babe's face.  
"You, my daughter, shall be called Narnîn, Tear of Fire, after all the tears we have both shed for your mother."

Years passed and soon it became clear, that Narnîn would grow up to be worthy of the title Star-dust princess. She had the silver hair of Eöl's ancestors, the royal family of Doriath, but her pale face bore a hint of the exotic features of the Avari. As soon as she was strong enough to hold a chisel, she asked her father to help him with his work, to which he gladly agreed.   
She loved her father more than life itself, despite him being rather distant most of the time. Miluneth tried to explain to her, that he loved her just as much, but did not know how to show it. That was enough for Narnîn.   
Sixteen years after Reinin's death, a fair lady of the Noldor wandered to the gates of Eöl's halls. He invited her to stay for at least a short time, and she accepted.  
Soon, they fell in love and got married. Eöl's new wife's name was Aredhel, and she was the younger sister of the King of Gondolin and apparently the only Noldo Eöl did not hate.  
Narnîn was fond of her as well, seeing her as a mother she had never had. Aredhel was kind to her surrogate daughter and taught her to sing and play the lute.  
This kindness did not diminish even with the birth of Eöl's second child - a boy named Maeglin, and for several decades, all was well.  
* * *  
"We are only going to visit Mother's kin, little sister, nothing to worry about," Maeglin said as he saddled his and Aredhel's horse.  
"You know well that Father forbade it. You should at least wait until he returns and ask for his blessing," Narnîn retorted and tilted her head back to look him in the eyes. Though Maeglin was a good twenty years younger than her, he stood at least a head taller.  
"No need to worry him. Besides, he is going to be gone for at least two more weeks."  
"Fine, then take me with you."  
"No," Maeglin snapped. Aredhel looked at Narnîn soothingly.  
"What your brother meant to say was that perhaps next time."  
Narnîn sighed, but did not question her father's wife. Eöl had raised her better than that.   
"Be careful, then," she told them. Maeglin nodded, but did not meet her gaze and climbed onto his horse in silence. Aredhel gave her a brief embrace.  
"May Elbereth light your path," she said. Narnîn felt like she was saying goodbye forever, and not for a week or two.   
It was not until the noldorin lady got on her horse and Maeglin started to turn his beast around that Narnîn noticed a sheen of black steel on her brother's saddle. It was partially hidden, but -  
"Is that Anguirel?" she blurted. Neither of them was permitted to even touch the sword, for it was one of the two best Eöl had ever forged.  
"Why did you take it, Maeglin?"  
He did not look at her.  
"As you said yourself, we need to be careful."  
And with that, he urged his horse forward with Aredhel close behind him.  
Before long, they disappeared among the trees.  
Two days passed, and the daughter of Eöl could not shake the feeling that something had gone horribly wrong. She spent most of her time pacing in the courtyard.  
"Oh, what am I going to do..." she talked to herself.  
"Worry not, my lady," said Alagos, "The path to Himlad is sure to be safe."  
"Then why did Maeglin take Anguirel with him? Nothing here makes sense. And what will Father think? I worry, Alagos, and I shall continue worrying until they return."  
She resumed her pacing. She should have stopped them, or at least demanded answers.   
Suddenly, there was a sound of hooves.  
Alagos smiled at her.  
"Do you hear? They probably changed their minds and decided to return. No reason to worry after all."  
Narnîn did not return his smile.  
"Listen closer, Alagos. There is only one horse."  
A tall figure clad in black armour on a black horse entered the courtyard.  
Eöl had returned early.  
Alagos and Narnîn exchanged panicked glances. Neither knew what they were going to tell him.


	6. Eöl's Wrath

"And you simply let them go!?" Eöl roared at all ten of his servants and his daughter.   
"My lord-"  
He struck aside the common room table.  
"Silence!"   
He took a deep breath.  
"Daughter, why did you let them leave?"  
Narnîn swallowed.  
"They were determined to leave and I would not disobey Aredhel."  
"One rule," Eöl seethed, "One single rule I gave them: Never to seek their noldorin kin. And they betrayed me!"  
"My lord-" Miluneth began.  
"And so have you!" the Dark elf roared, "All of you! Imbeciles!"  
"My lord, we could not-"  
"Leave! Go to the Western shores for all I care, and never show your faces in Nan Elmoth again!"  
There was a disbelieving silence for a moment, before they realized he was being serious and stared leaving the room quietly but quickly.  
Narnîn felt like she was about to cry, and the look Miluneth gave her as she left sent the tears rolling down her cheeks. She turned to leave as well.  
"Daughter. Not you," Eöl said, "You I can trust to take my words to heart."   
He walked over to her, his armour clattering.  
"I am going to pusue them. You shall stay here and look after Nan Elmoth. You shall not leave, not even if it takes me years to bring them back, do you understand?"  
"Y-yes, father."  
* * *  
"And so my family left me, and I have been alone ever since. Until I found you, that is, and healed you in my brother's bed."  
Celebrimbor had no idea what to say. The thought of someone so young for an elf spending years alone made him shiver. He put his hand on her shoulder. She gave him a sad smile.  
"We should go inside," she said, "It is getting late and I should redress your shoulder."  
He did not complain. In fact, he was grateful for anything that delayed his part of the story, for now that he had the entire picture, he was certain that what he had to say would only bring Narnîn more pain.  
Once they reached Maeglin's room, Narnîn helped Celebrimbor out of his tunic and sat him down.  
He felt her cold fingers brush against his skin as she started removing the layers of cloth from his shoulder.   
"You are healing well," she said, "Two more weeks and you will be as good as new and ready to go home."  
There was sadness in her voice, and for a moment he suspected that maybe she did not want him to leave. And for just a moment, neither did he.  
"Will you tell me your story now?" she asked.  
"Very well."


	7. Celebrimbor's story

Ten years before he would meet Narnîn Elmothriel, Telperinquar dwelt with his father in Himlad.   
At the moment, he was sitting behind his workbench hunched over what was about to become a beautiful necklace set with scores of white gems. The stones were tiny and Telperinquar almost dared not breathe as he, armed with a pair of delicate pincers, set them one by one.  
"My lord," began a voice near the door.  
"No," the prince cut the man off.  
"Hear me out, please."  
"Can you not see I am working?" Telperinquar snapped.   
"My lord, you have not left this room in over two days. Your father sent me to bring you to him," the other elf said carefully.  
"Two days?" he blurted, quickly turned to the other and winced as sharp pain shot through his back. It certainly felt like he had not moved in two days...  
"Did my father say anything as to why he wishes to see me?" he asked, carefully standing up.  
"No, my lord."  
Telperinquar sighed inwardly. Mysterious as ever, are you not, Father? And for this I have to leave work unfinished...  
"Very well," he told the messenger, "You may tell my father that I shall join him as soon as I can."  
The messenger swallowed.  
"Yes, my lord, just... please, do not delay."  
Telperinquar smiled. His father could be quite terrifying if angered.  
"Worry not. I shan't take long."  
The messenger bowed and left the room.  
With a last longing look at the unfinished necklace, Telperinquar went to his chambers to wash and dress presentably.  
Only a short time later, one would not recognize the ragged and hunched figure from before. With his long raven hair freshly washed and braided, a simple silver circlet upon his brow and his proud bearing, he looked every bit the part of a noldorin prince. His dark blue cloak swirled behind him as he strode through the long corridors of his father's castle.  
He bowed low as he entered Curufin's chambers.  
"You wished to see me, Father."  
Curufin beckoned him to rise. He was remarkably similar to his own father, Fëanor, in both appearance and personality. He had the same black hair and grey eyes that seemed to shine with their own inner fire. Those eyes were the only feature Telperinquar had not inherited - his own were blue as a mountain glacier.  
"Yes, indeed I have," said Curufin and lead his son to a large window overlooking the Pass of Aglon, "What I am about to tell you must not leave this chamber, do you understand?"  
"Yes, Father."  
The lord of Himlad dismissed his guards.  
"A short while ago, my scouts reported that two strange travellers have been spotted by the Fords of Aros, heading westward. One of them, a young man of dark hair and white skin they did not recognize, but the other was none other than my cousin, Aredhel Ar-Feiniel."  
Telperinquar's eyes widened.  
"Aredhel? What could she possibly be doing in those parts?"  
"We know not, for the scouts lost her after she crossed the river."  
Curufin sighed.  
"But I have a peculiar feeling, my son, that strange events are about to take place. That is why I have decided to go personally to the Fords of Aros."  
"But Father," Telperinquar began, "You are the Lord of Himlad, surely it would be enough to sent someone in your stead."  
And with a silent goodbye to his poor unfinished necklace, he said:  
"I would go in your stead."  
Curufin smiled.  
"Oh I have never said you were not coming along."

And so in a little under a day Curufin, Telperinquar and twenty of the former's best riders encamped at the Fords of Aros.  
"Father, what exactly do you expect to find here?" asked Telperinquar as the two of them walked among the tents.  
"I know not. But tell me not that you do not think this situation strange."  
"I do indeed, but if we wish to find out what Aredhel was doing here, should we not try and find her?"  
For a moment, Curufin seemed to be considering it.  
"No," he finally said, "Trust me on this, my son."  
Telperinquar did not really trust instinct over logic, but nodded. After all, stranger things had happened than a feeling turning out to be right.  
And that time, Curufin's instincts turned to be right indeed.  
It was high noon when the captain of his riders knocked respectfully on Curufin's tent pole. He heard no reaction, so he entered carefully... right into the middle of a heated discussion between father and son.  
"No, you do not understand," said Telperinquar, "you cannot heat up the blade all the way to peach-colour during heat-treating!"  
Curufin snorted.  
"I cannot believe this. How many times do I have to tell you-"   
He broke off as he noticed the captain.  
"What news do you bring?" he asked, as though nothing had happened.   
"My lord, we have captured a rider not far from here. He said his name was Eöl Mornedhel."  
At that, Curufin seemed genuinely surprised, then angry.  
"Bring him to me," he ordered, "Immediately."  
The warrior clicked his heels and went to carry out the command.  
"Who is Eöl Mornedhel?" asked Telperinquar, who had never heard the name before. His father sighed.  
"He is a prince of the Sindar, some say Thingol's grandnephew, and the lord of Nan Elmoth. He has never set foot out of his burrow to aid in the fight against Morgoth, and apparently blames us for all evil in Beleriand."  
Curufin said the last words with a tone of voice that let everyone know just how absurd the very notion seemed to him.  
However, Telperinquar understood at least a little why one of the Sindar would feel like that. After all, the worst of Morgoth's onslaught came as a response to the coming of the Noldor, and it was useless to pretend that the Sons of Fëanor were blameless in all that had happened. Still, he valued his relationship with his father enough to keep such thoughts to himself.  
There was a knock on the tent pole.  
"My lords, Eöl Mornedhel."  
"Bring him in," Curufin said.  
Eöl the Dark elf was terrifying to behold, even as a captive. His armour and clothes were black, as was his hair and he stood tall and proud, his head raised in defiance.  
Still, Curufin was undaunted.  
"What errand have you, Dark elf, in my lands?" he said harshly, "An urgent matter, perhaps, that keeps one so sun-shy abroad by day."  
Telperinquar saw Eöl clench his jaw in anger, but the words he spoke were restrained:  
"I have learned, lord Curufin, that my son and my wife, the White Lady of Gondolin, have ridden to visit you while I was from home, and it seemed to me fitting that I should join them on this errand."  
Curufin and Telperinquar exchanged glances. Then, to his son's great surprise, Curufin laughed.  
"They might have found their welcome less warm than they hoped, had you accompanied them. But no matter, that was not their errand. It is not two days since they passed over Arossiach and rode swiftly westward."  
Then Curufin stepped closer to Eöl and walked slowly around him, like a wolf around his prey. When he spoke, his voice was like poisoned honey:  
"It seems that you would deceive me. Unless, of course, you have yourself been deceived."  
This performance of Curufin's would have caused many a brave man's knees to shake, but Eöl simply looked him in the eyes and answered:  
"Then, lord, perhaps you would give me leave to go, and discover the truth of this matter."  
Curufin snorted.  
"You have my leave, but not my love," he said, "The sooner you depart from my land the better will it please me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue between Curufin and Eöl is lifted almost word for word from JRR Tolkien's Silmarillion.


	8. Sun and Moon

"Is that all?" Narnîn asked.  
"He only exchanged some more 'niceties' with my father and rode to the west."  
Narnîn, having finished the work on Celebrimbor's shoulder, sat down on the bed next to him and stared into nothing.  
"I am sorry I cannot tell you more," he said.  
She turned to him and forced herself to smile.  
"No need for apologies. I am happy to know something, no matter how little."  
The smile disappeared. Her eyes started to sting.  
"What do you think happened to them? The lands north of Doriath are perilous, are they not?"  
She need not have asked, as she already knew the answer. She had heard the stories of travellers disappearing south of Ered Gorgoroth, of the giant spiders that dwelled there. The same creatures that had killed her mother. Celebrimbor told her truthfully:  
"They are indeed." Then he put his hand on her shoulder. "But despair not! From what I have seen and heard of your father, it is the fell creatures of those lands that should be afraid."  
A ghost of a smile returned to her lips, but was gone as fast as it had appeared. She rose and crossed her arms as if she were cold.  
"I should not have asked you. There is nothing I can do with the knowledge, except let it kill what little hope I have left."  
"Speak not like that," Celebrimbor said and rose as well, "There is always hope."  
And seemingly without thinking, as if it were the only thing he could say at the time, he added:  
"Come with me. Leave Nan Elmoth and I shall help you find your family."  
"Leave?" She stared at him as if he had gone mad, "No, I cannot leave! I promised to stay. And you are in no condition to travel anyway."  
"How many years have to go by for you to do something else than wait for those who may never return? You have no choice but to go." Celebrimbor said, perhaps more sharply than he had intended. Narnîn's eyes turned into cold steel and suddenly, she stood tall and severe, an image of a queen.  
"I thank you for your advice, son of Curufin, but I still remain the lady of Nan Elmoth and I shall not take orders from outsiders."  
She turned to leave the room.   
"Wait!" he called after her, "Forgive me. I spoke only out of concern."  
Narnîn looked over her shoulder, and Celebrimbor continued:  
"You are young still, and you do not deserve to spend your days in darkness."  
All was silent for a moment, then she turned back and bowed her head slightly. The pride and kingly bearing were gone as fast as they had appeared.  
"It is me who should apologise," she said, "But you must understand, I have my duty to this forest, just as you have yours to your people."  
Narnîn took her duties very seriously. However, she also wanted to do something more than to passively wait for her family to maybe soneday return.  
She felt she needed to think for a moment by herself, but also could not bear the thought of being alone.  
Celebrimbor, perhaps sensing her conflict, smiled at her with so much kindness and understanding that she almost felt unworthy.  
"It is late," he said, "Go to sleep now. Tomorrow will be wiser."  
Narnîn had not even realized how tired she was.  
"I... I do not think I can sleep. Not with everything that is on my mind," she admitted. For a moment, her guest seemed deep in thought. Then he gestured for her to sit with him on the bed. She reluctantly did so.  
"Would you like to hear a story?" he asked.  
"I am not a child, Celebrimbor," Narnîn told him. He raised an eyebrow.  
"Who told you stories were only for children? Would you like to hear about how the Sun and Moon came to be?"  
That piqued Narnîn's curiosity.  
"Yes, please," she gave up.   
Celebrimbor cleared his throat and begun. He spoke of how the Dark lord forged an unholy alliance with the fell spirit Ungoliant, who took the shape of an enormous spider. How the two then killed the two great trees, Laurelin and Telperion, which had been, until then, illuminating Aman with soft, warm light. Before they died, however, Laurelin managed to produce one last fruit, and Telperion one last flower. Aulë the Smith then fashioned vessels for both of them and two noble Maiar were chosen to guide them across the skies. Arien, a maia of fire, became the Sun, and Tilion, one of Oromë's hunters, became the Moon. And because Tilion loved Arien, he would chase her across the night sky.  
Narnîn soon found herself drifting into sleep, soothed by Celebrimbor's pleasant voice.  
Just as he finished the story, a silver head bumped gently against his shoulder as sleep claimed the Star-dust princess.


	9. Greatest Journey

Narnîn woke up the next morning fully clothed, but covered with a blanket in Celebrimbor's bed. Of the noldo himself there was no sign, so she got up and went looking. She felt strangely normal and content, as she had not in a long time. She checked her own bedroom and there was no one there. She almost turned to leave, but then she noticed the wide open window. She looked out and there he was, sitting on a thick branch, looking up into the trees. He had an oddly peaceful expression and his eyes seemed to glow with their own inner light. Truly, lachenn, or "flame-eyed", as the Noldor were called in Sindarin. Narnîn had thought the name just a metaphor, but now she saw, that Celebrimbor's folk truly did carry the light of Aman with them wherever they walked. And suddenly, she felt the desire to see that light for herself, to see all the places and wonders those flaming eyes had seen. Carefully, she climbed onto the windowsill and out into the trees.   
"Good morning," she murmured as she sat herself next to Celebrimbor.  
"Yes, yes it is," he said, "Although I would appreciate a little more sun."  
"Well, I am afraid it is not going to be sunny around here for quite some time," she chuckled. Then she grew serious again. Celebrimbor frowned.  
"Are you alright?" he asked.  
"Yes, of course... just... tell me more about the Sun, Celebrimbor."  
And so he did.  
Over the course of the following days, Celebrimbor shared many more stories. He talked of his childhood in Aman, of his journey to Beleriand, and his recent travels. Narnîn soon grew fascinated by this vast and beautiful land she had never seen. Feeling that she had to give him something in return, she started teaching him the basics of East Avarin, her mother's language that Eöl had taught her when she was little.  
They could not get enough of the other's company and soon started sharing and exchanging their peoples' methods and techniques of swordmaking and metallurgy. Narnîn turned out to be a fast learner and Celebrimbor was only happy to share his knowledge and learn some things in return.   
Soon, the realization that the time of Celebrimbor's departure was fast approaching started weighing down heavily on their hearts. And when the day came for Narnîn to take the Celebrimbor's bandages off for the last time, a deep sense of melancholy fell on him. Celebrimbor watched the Sinda closely as she tended to his now-healthy shoulder. He did not want to even think about never seeing her again, yet he could not possibly stay. Vague plans of coming to visit Narnîn later did not ease the empty feeling that filled him at every thought of leaving. Perhaps, he could get used to Nan Elmoth. Perhaps he could send word to his father that he was alive and well and stay... but would she even want him to stay?  
"There," Narnîn said, smiling, and gave his shoulder a gentle pat.  
She looked quite happy. Perhaps she wants me to leave after all, Celebrimbor thought.  
"What is it?" she asked.  
"Nothing."  
"Does it still hurt?"  
"No," he answered hurriedly. Before she could inquire further, he said:  
"I would leave tomorrow, if that is agreeable to you. I will trouble you no longer."  
"Don't be silly, you are no trouble. But if it is your wish to leave, I have just one thing to say..." she took a deep breath, "I am coming with you."  
Celebrimbor could not stop a wide smile from appearing on his face. The candlelight in his chambers suddenly seemed brighter and warmer.  
"What made you change your mind?" he asked.  
"It is my duty as a daughter and a sister to at least attempt to bring my family home. Here I am nothing but a steward of a dead, empty household from this day until the Battle of Battles. And besides," she chuckled, "I do not intend to let you out of my sight quite so soon. It is not every day that I meet a Noldorin prince."  
"It is not every day that you meet anyone," Celebrimbor remarked and was immediately rewarded with a laugh and a soft punch in the shoulder.

The next day the two rose at dawn and started packing for their journey. Celebrimbor found that all his weapons had been properly taken care of, and his quiver refilled with black-fletched arrows. He decided he had to find a way to repay Narnîn as he waited for her in the courtyard. When she emerged from the house, gone was her flowing gown. She was now dressed as a hunter, in a long black jerkin and tunic and tall riding boots. On her shoulder she carried a heavy saddle of dark leather and in her other hand she held a white horn.  
She was smiling.  
"Are you ready to call our friends?" she asked and dropped the saddle.  
"Quite ready."  
Narnîn nodded, put the horn to her lips and blew. The tone was sharp, but pleasant to hear and travelled quickly over the trees.  
"Now we simply have to hope Lairë is as smart as you say," Narnîn said. Celebrimbor turned to her.  
"You may insult me, but never insult my horse. She will come."  
"I know."  
He suddenly noticed something missing on Narnîn.  
"Wait a moment," he said and went back into the house. When he came back, he was carrying a single-edged longsword with a long hilt wrapped in black leather. She recognised it as one of the weapons she had helped her father with.  
"Do you know how to use a sword?" Celebrimbor asked. Narnîn sighed as the reason he had gone to the house dawned on her.  
"I know how to forge, grind and sharpen them, but there was never any need to learn to fight," she said.   
He held out the sword for Narnîn to take.  
"Even so, I would feel calmer if you took it."  
"Be sensible," she argued, "It would be nothing but a burden. Besides, I think I am more than your match with a bow."  
He seemed to have changed strategy. He held the sword up to his eyes and admired the engravings on the curved guard. You sly fox, Narnîn thought, I made those and you know it.  
"This is a beautiful sword. It would be a shame to leave it here."  
Narnîn sighed and tore the sword out of his hands.  
"I will take it, if only to give you peace."  
In but a moment, the sounds of neighing could be heard from beyond the gate. Soon, two beautiful horses entered the courtyard, the one in the lead being none other than Lairë. She neighed happily at the sight of Celebrimbor and hurried to his side to nuzzle his face and lay her large head on his shoulder. Narnîn could hear him whispering soothing words in Quenya.  
Her own horse, a dapple grey stallion by the name Eldúath, came to her side as well, holding still as a statue, waiting to be saddled. He looked at his less disciplined companion with clear disapproval. Narnîn felt enormous weight on her shoulders as she saddled Eldúath. The hoped, she prayed to Eru, that what she was doing was right. She swung herself onto her horse with Celebrimbor following suite. She looked to him and a single smile and reassuring glance of those forget-me-not eyes chased away all of her doubts. She gently nudged Eldúath with her heels and set out on her greatest journey yet.


	10. That is What I Shall Call You

The journey from the house of Eöl to the northern border of Nan Elmoth took about ten hours at a reasonable pace. Celebrimbor would have expected it to be more difficult for the horses to ride through the dense forest, but apparently Narnîn and Eldúath knew paths through the undegrowth that he would not have noticed had they been right in front of him.   
"It is growing warmer," Narnîn said, "the edge in not far."  
Suddenly, she gazed into the distance, where the forest finally gave way to more open plain. She pointed in that direction.  
"Look! Celebrimbor, is that what I think it is?"  
"The edge of the forest?"  
"No! Sunlight!" And with that, she nugded Eldúath and left her companion far behind.  
Celebrimbor chuckled to himself and followed.  
When he finally caught up with her, the dark wall of trees was behind them. Narnîn was kneeling in the grass, grinning like a child. The warm afternoon sun reflected off her pale skin, and in Celebrimbor's mind, none of the ladies of the Calaquendi could look as fair. He knelt next to her.  
"I knew... I knew from your stories that it would be beautiful, but this..." she whispered.  
Now she was certain that she had chosen well. This felt right. The free wind in her hair and the warmth on her skin... and her only friend by her side.  
They rode on until evening, talking about all that crossed their minds, from the subtle language differences between the Doriathrim and the Falathrim to the efficiency of different kinds of arrow fletching. When they encamped for the night, it felt like they had known each other for years.  
"Celebrimbor?" Narnîn asked as they sat by the fire.  
"Yes?"  
"I am curious, what is your real name? Surely your father did not name you in Sindarin."  
Celebrimbor sighed.  
"It would not be of much use to you, since your king has made it a crime to speak my language."  
"I cannot see him anywhere here," Narnîn smiled. Celebrimbor gave up. He gazed into the fire and said:  
"My name is Telperinquar."  
Narnîn moved her lips silently as if trying the name out.   
"It means Silver-hand?" she asked.  
"Yes."  
The Sinda suddenly broke into laughter. Celebrimbor stared at her in confusion.  
"You had the opportunity to choose an entirely new name for yourself," Narnîn managed, "and you simply translated your old one?"  
"And what sort of name would you have me use?" Celebrimbor wanted to know, "What is wrong with my name?"  
"All of noldorin names take far too long to say," Narnîn complained.  
"That is not true."  
"Most of them, then." She thought silently for a moment.  
"Telperinquar..." she said finally, "Tyelpë means silver, yes?"  
"Yes."  
Narnîn smiled.  
"Then that is what I shall call you."  
Celebrimbor felt a sharp pang of pain in his chest. Unbeknownst to Narnîn, the last person who had called him that was his mother. The name was one of the last reminders of his home.  
He looked up at her, only to find worry in her eyes.  
"Or not, if you do not wish me to," she said apologetically.  
"No, it is fine," Celebrimbor answered quickly, "I was simply deep in thought."  
Narnîn smiled, and in that moment, he wanted nothing else but to hear that name from her lips again. 


	11. Manwë's Messenger

Several days later, west of the Fords of Aros, Tyelpë startled his companion by halting suddenly.  
"What is it?" Narnîn asked. Tyelpë pointed at the sky.  
"Look."  
She raised her head and squinted in the indicated direction. However, her eyes were still more used to the darkness of Nan Elmoth than sunlight.  
"I do not see- Wait," she cut herself off as she noticed what seemed like a bird of prey in the sky to the west. At the moment, it appeared as little more than a black speck against the blue skies, but as far as she could tell, it was quickly getting closer.  
"I see it, Tyelpë," Narnîn said, "but why have we stopped?"  
"That is no ordinary bird. That is one of Manwë's servants."  
Narnîn suddenly felt ashamed of referring to the great eagle as 'it'.  
"Do you think they have seen us?"  
"Oh I am certain of that," Tyelpë said.  
They both dismounted and stood side by side.  
Tyelpë must have noticed the Narnîn's nervousness as she watched the eagle closing in.  
"Calm yourself," he smiled, "Treat them with respect and all will be well. After all, we are all servants of Manwë."  
Once the eagle finally touched down before them, it took all of Narnîn's will to keep her jaw from dropping. She had expected the Vala's messenger to be larger than common birds, but not this much. The eagle's spread wings could cover both their horses along with the riders and there would still be space left. The bird also held in one of his talons a large wooden chest.  
The two elves bowed and the eagle inclined his head. The large intelligent eyes focused on Narnîn. When the eagle spoke, it was in a deep and resonant voice.  
"I am searching for Narnîn daughter of Eöl. Are you her?"  
What could he wish if her?  
"I am. May I assist you somehow?" she offered.  
"Only by listening, for I bring word from King Turgon of Gondolin."   
Narnîn's throat tightened, even though she did not know why.  
The messenger continued:  
"For years have I searched for you, but my eyes could not pierce the darkness of Nan Elmoth. I have been tasked with bringing you the news of your father's death."  
At that moment, Narnîn simply stopped. Her eyes stared into nothingness as her mind raced. No, that was not possible. This was not happening. Not real.  
"How did it happen?" she asked shakily. Why did she ask? Her father lived. He could not have died.  
But then Narnîn realised, that she had known already, and not for a short time.  
"Eöl Mornedhel" the eagle answered, "was executed by the King's order for the murder of Aredhel his wife and attempting to slay your brother Maeglin."  
Narnîn's eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but no sound escaped her.  
"No!" she protested once she found her voice, "That is not possible!"  
"What reason could I have for lying?" said the eagle calmly. The elf-maiden took a step forward and unconsciously balled her hands into fists.  
"You tell me!"  
Suddenly, she felt a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. Then came Tyelpë's single soft word:  
"Narnîn."  
It worked like magic. Her tensed body relaxed somewhat as she took a deep breath. She dropped her gaze to the ground. It was not the messenger's fault.  
"I meant no offense," she said in a broken voice.  
"None taken."  
"Where is my brother now?" Narnîn asked.  
"In Gondolin. He is a prince of the Noldor, by his mother."  
"I must see him," Narnîn said, an unspoken plea in her eyes.  
The eagle bowed his head sympathetically.  
"I could carry you to him if that is truly your wish, but I must warn you: It is by King Turgon's decree that none who enter the Hidden city may leave."  
"So I must choose between never seeing my brother again and never leaving the city?"  
"These are your options."  
Surprising both herself and he companions, Narnîn turned to the west, and screamed:  
"Cruel man you are, Turgon of Gondolin!"  
All fell silent as the elf-maiden's heart raced.   
She turned to the eagle again and said in a tired voice:  
"I... I thank you for passing the King's word on to me. I wish you good winds on your journeys."  
"There is one more matter. Here is everything of value your father had on his person," he said, placing the chest he had been carrying before Narnîn, "I bring them to you, as Maeglin wished not to inherit anything of his father's."  
He then bowed his avian head first to Narnîn, then to Tyelpë.  
"I wish you safe journeys, lady Narnîn, Silver hand."  
And with that, he took off and soon disappeared over the western horizon.  
Only then did Narnîn drop to her knees and weep, with Telperinquar by her side.


	12. In Remembrance of Eöl Mornedhel

Telperinquar was no stranger to grief. He had watched his many of his kin die horribly, including his grandfather and his great grandfather. Even now he grieved the death of his cousin Aredhel.  
However, even after all he had been through, he could not attempt to comprehend how the slight figure before him felt.  
Not only did she lose her father, but also learned that it was him who murdered the woman that had been like a mother to her. It pained him to see her so distraught and he wished there was something, anything, he could do to help.  
Slowly, carefully, as though not to break her, he placed his hand on Narnîn's shoulder. He could feel it heave with sobs.  
He had no idea how many minutes had passed by the time Narnîn's breaths grew somewhat regular again. She was shaking with cold that had nothing to do with weather.  
Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her eyes to him. They were red and tired, but there were no more tears.  
She had wept until all grief was spent, and passed into the emptiness beyond.  
Now she looked upon Telperinquar with despair and helplesness that he had rarely seen.  
He wanted to say something, to tell her how sorry he was, to tell her that he would protect her... but no words seemed sufficient.  
Neither later remembered who started the embrace, but both were equally reluctant to let go as Narnîn rested her head against Tyelpë's chest and he gently stroked her silver hair, glistening in the golden rays of the setting sun.  
* * *  
Narnîn did not sleep that night. Thoughts tortured her, thoughts about whether she could have done something to avert the fate that had befallen her family. Perhaps Maeglin and Aredhel could have been persuaded to stay. And even if not, whyever had Narnîn not gone to look for them sooner? If she only had... Nothing would have changed. They would not have listened to her. The rift between Maeglin and her father had simply been too great.  
Letting out an exasperated sigh, she rolled over to her other side. Her eyes lingered on Tyelpë's sleeping form bathed in the first rays of sunlight, and despite everything, a slight smile touched her lips. He had been her only solace, the rock she could lean on. But soon, he would leave as well. A stray thought occured to her:  
What if we were to be married?  
What was she thinking? She was lonely and grief-stricken. What she felt was surely not love. Or was it?  
She felt she could not trust herself.  
Deciding she had to occupy herself somehow, she slithered from underneath her blanket and went over to the chest the eagle had brought her. Fresh tears stung her eyes as she unclasped it, but she steeled herself. She was the blood of Morwë, the High king in the Far East. She would not lose control of herself again.  
Taking a deep breath, she opened the chest.  
Inside lay a beautiful set of black armour, its plates carefully folded for storage and well oiled and maintained. On the very top rested a sword and a great helm made after sindarin fashion, with prominent cheekguards and an additional plate reinforcing the brow and blending seamlessly into a noseguard.   
It was the attire Eöl had been wearing the last time Narnîn had seen him.   
She heard quiet footsteps behind her, but did not react.   
She reached out to touch her inheritance, but was suddenly filled with disgust. This was the armour of a man who had killed his own wife and was willing to do the same to his son. But still...  
"I miss him," Narnîn all but whispered.  
"I know," said Tyelpë as he knelt next to her.  
"I now know him for what he was. I should hate him."  
"But you do not," the Noldo finished, nodding in understanding.  
Narnîn smiled bitterly: "No. And I almost hate myself for it."  
He took her by the shoulder and gently turned her to look at him.  
"Mourning a father's death is hardly a crime, Narnîn, whatever he had commited in life. It is for Mandos, not our kin, to judge our actions. Know him for who he was, but hate him not. Forget him not. And mourn him however your heart dictates."  
Tyelpë's words brought he peace that she had not thought possible.

A few hours later, on a hill nearby, Narnîn chiselled out into a large stone these words:

_In remembrance of Eöl Mornedhel, Lord of Nan Elmoth, husband to Reinin of the Kinn-lai and Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, father to Narnîn Elmothriel and Maeglin Lómion._   
_May Mandos have mercy upon his spirit._

Telperinquar solemnly handed her her father's sword, which she unsheathed and raised high above her head.  
Then she drove it deep into the stone.  
Both elves stood in silence, looking at Narnîn's work, before unconsciously taking each other's hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have thought long and hard how exactly is Eöl related to Thingol. In the later editions of the Silmarillion, Eöl is a Sinda and Thingol's kin, but earlier he is mentioned to be of Avarin descent. So I've decided to go with both: in my version, Eöl is the grandson of Thingol's sister Elenië, who married Morwë of the Avari, which is where he got his dark hair and eyes from.


	13. Onwards

When the time they had spent as Eöl's memorial started to be measurable by the passage of the Sun, they slowly embarked on the journey back to their encampment.  
As they returned, Narnîn finally voiced the question that was on both of their minds:  
"What happens now?"  
Her voice was as heavy as the lid of a lead coffin.  
"Will you return home?"   
"No," said Telperinquar after a moment's consideration, "I do not think I will. At least not right away. Will you?"  
"I should. I have nowhere else to go. However, I doubt I could bear the loneliness now that I have no-one to wait for. But King Thingol should be made aware of his kinsman and vassal's death. I may go to Doriath first, to bring him the news."  
"Then I shall accompany you, at least to Doriath's borders, if you would have me," he said.  
Narnîn turned to him, eyes wide.  
"Of course!"

After eating a modest midday meal,  
the elf-maid went to sit down and think about what was to come, only to be suddenly interrupted by Tyelpë tossing her her sheathed sword. Narnîn caught the weapon and gave her companion a confused look.  
He shrugged.  
"You yourself have said, that a sword is but a burden to one who cannot use it. So, now you are going to learn."  
"You cannot be serious," said Narnîn, who was quite unwilling to be swayed by Tyelpë's obvious attempts to take her mind off recent happenings.  
"I fear I am, and it is not something I am willing to discuss," he retorted firmly, but kindly, "Now draw your sword and show me how you hold it."  
Reluctantly, Narnîn did so and drew the blade in one smooth motion. She held it in both hands, with her feet slightly apart.  
Tyelpë walked over to her and started examining her posture.  
Then he took her gently by her left wrist and moved the hand to rest at the very end of the hilt.  
"You will gain more leverage with your hands apart," he explained, "otherwise, you hold your weapon well. I was afraid you would grip it like a hammer."  
He gave her a teasing smile.  
She was not angry with Tyelpë for making light of her situation, for she knew that that was not his intention. He likely realised that had he done nothing, Narnîn was quite capable of spending the rest of the day sitting in silence, in the shade of the nearby birchwood, which would hardly help anyone.  
Tyelpë moved to stand in front of her, so that the sword pointed at him.  
"Now, raise the tip to my eyes, so that I cannot estimate the length of the blade. Like that, good. But relax your elbows. Bend them slightly. Good."  
They went on like that for a while, then moved on to some of the simpler cuts and parries. Then to the more complex ones. Narnîn's arms started to burn, but not enough to fail her. Despite her initial reluctance, she soon had to admit to herself that physical strain was good for her. It have her something to concentrate on and to aspire to.  
Only after beads of sweat started to form on her brow did Tyelpë stop her.  
"I believe you will become quite the swordsman, with practice," he said as she sheathed the sword. A sad frown crossed his features.  
"You should by all means find yourself a teacher in Doriath."  
"I doubt I can find one that will match you," said Narnîn, and looked deep into his eyes.   
She recalled their embrace, and wished to be close to him again, not because of grief, but because of love. Perhaps feeling the same, Tyelpë took a step towards her. Then another, and another, until they could almost hear each other's heartbeat.  
If only that heartbeat could be the music that would guide through life...  
But it could not, could it?  
"I wish our peoples were not so filled with hatred for each other," she murmured as she painfully tore her gaze away.   
She almost gasped as she felt Tyelpë place his hand on her cheek and turn her to face him again.  
"We both do. But we do not yet have to join them."  
Suddenly, as if remembering himself, he took his hand away and stepped back.  
"I... I am sorry," he said, "We have no wood to make fire for the eve. I should go."  
And with that, he turned and disappeared among the tall silver birches.  
Narnîn understood. The closer they grew now, the more painful their goodbye would be.  
As she stood there, something gently nudged against her shoulder. It was Eldúath. Unable to keep a smile from crossing her features, the elf-maid reached to pat the horse's neck, who took the opportunity to rub his velvety muzzle against Narnîn's cheek.  
"You are staying with me, are you not?" she told him.  
Suddenly, there came a soft sound of creaking wood from behind her. Bows being drawn. With no time to string her own, Narnîn drew her sword and spun around... only to look upon the faces of a dozen elves, armed and wearing dark green over their mail shirts. They all wore the Star of Fëanor on their chests.  
"Drop your blade, lest we make it fall along with your body," one commanded, likely their captain.   
Narnîn was angry at herself for not noticing them sooner and had no desire to obey, but in the face of a dozen heavy warbows, she reluctantly dropped her sword.  
As one man, the fëanorians let down their bows, but the arrows remained nocked.  
"What errand have you in the lands of Lords Curufin and Celegorm, Sinda?" asked the captain harshly.  
"I am merely passing through here on my way to Doriath," Narnîn said calmly.  
"Where from?"  
"Nan Elmoth."  
The captain raised his eyebrows:  
"Surely you know that there is a much faster way from Nan Elmoth to Doriath, one that does not require intrusion upon the lands of the Sons of Fëanor?"  
"My companion and I were sidetracked."  
"Where is your companion?"  
"Worry not, he will be back soon."  
"And what sidetracked you?"  
"That is no business of yours."  
"I am afraid it is," the captain retorted and took a few steps towards Narnîn. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous:  
"Now, let us try again: What gives you the right to enter Himlad?"  
"I do."  
The fëanorians turned in surprise. There stood Celebrimbor, still wearing his worn travel cloak, but looking every bit as noble as if he were clad in gold and silk.  
The elves' captain went down on one knee, with the others soon following suit.  
"My Lord... we had thought you lost! Your father will be delighted to know you are safe!"  
Tyelpë beckoned the men to rise.  
"My father worries too much," he said, "Any number of harmless things could have delayed me. But it is true that I was in danger and owe my life to lady Narnîn Elmothriel."   
He nodded to her and the soldiers followed his gaze, clearly now seeing the elf-maid in a new light.  
"And you will show her deference befitting a princess of the Sindar, am I understood?"  
"Certainly, my lord."  
Narnîn smiled bitterly. _Certainly_.  
"Will the lady be accompanying you to the Pass of Aglon, my lord?"  
"No. As a matter of fact, I will be accompanying her to Doriath."  
The captain's eyes widened.  
"But, my lord, your father-"  
"I shall explain myself to him when I return. Until then, give him my greetings and my assurance, that I shall be back as soon as I can."  
The soldier was clearly not fond of the way the situation turned out, but did not protest.  
"May I at least convince you to spend the night at our outpost, my lord? Orcs have been sighted in these lands."  
"I have noticed," said Celebrimbor, "but with you and your men watching over Himlad, we are sure to be safe right where we are."  
The captain was starting to look desperate.  
"Worry not," his lord continued, "It is but a two days ride from here to the edge of Doriath and I assure you, even if I die, my father shan't have your head for it."  
The other elf looked highly doubtful, but said only:  
"Safe travels then, my lord."  
"To you as well."  
And with that, the men departed.  
Tyelpë walked swiftly over to Narnîn, who was carefully putting her sword back into its sheath.  
"Are you alright? I swear, they had chosen the most inopportune moment."  
"I am quite alright," she smiled, "Curufin's men are dutiful, are they not?"  
"Fanatically loyal' is the term I would have used, but yes."  
They spent the next few moments in silence as they tried to busy themselves around the camp.  
"Tyelpë?"  
"Yes?"  
"You did not by any chance manage to bring any of that firewood you had mentioned, did you?"


	14. King of Doriath

Little under two months had passed since Celebrimbor Curufinnion arrived in Nan Elmoth when there was a visitor at the gates of Menegroth unlike any other before.  
A young elf-maid with hair like gleaming steel, clad in black armour, with a sword at her side and a helm in the crook of her arm.  
She walked to the guards at the great stone gate with her head held high and announced:  
"I am Narnîn, daughter of Eöl Mornedhel, the Lord of Nan Elmoth. I bring grave news to the King."  
And as she waited for one of the guards to come back with the answer whether she would be granted an audience, memories came to her unbidden:

_"There," said Tyelpë, holding up the last piece of Eöl's armour, that he had been adjusting for its new owner, "This is going to fit much better now."_   
_"I am not even going to ask how you managed to do all this in the middle of nowhere, with hardly any proper tools," smiled Narnîn._   
_He answered with a chuckle:_   
_"Good. I have to keep at least some if my secrets from you. Now, let us put it on you, shall we?"_

_The thick edge of the forest of Region loomed over the duo and cast a shadow over both their bodies and their hearts. Narnîn dismounted, intending to lead Eldúath through the unknown undergrowth, at least until a road could be found._   
_Tyelpë followed and when he spoke, there was deep sadness in his voice:_   
_"This... is where we must part ways. You go to your King in his halls of stone, and there I cannot follow."_   
_Narnîn's throat tightened. This was too definitive of a goodbye. It felt like they were parting forever._   
_"But we will see each other again, will we not?" she said, forcing a smile._   
_"I do not know..."_   
_Tyelpë looked down._   
_Then he reached into his tunic, took out his star-shaped pendant and pulled it over his head. He took Narnîn's hand and pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers over it._   
_"Wherever your journeys may lead, forget me not," he murmured._   
_"I- I cannot accept the Star of Fëanor!"_   
_She tried in vain to give the jewel back._   
_"Then accept it as the Star of Telperinquar."_   
_Narnîn let out a breath, closed her eyes and slowly brought her closed hand to her chest._   
_"And if it were only yours, I would wear it proudly," she said, "As it is, I shall at least keep it close to my heart."_   
_And she put the star around her neck and tucked it away inside her armour and clothing._   
_When she looked up again, tears shone in her eyes._   
_"Goodbye, Telperinquar of the Western shores."_   
_He gave her a gentle smile, but there was no happiness behind it. Slowly, carefully, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, but his hand lingered on the side of her head._   
_Then he leaned down and kissed her. Their tears merged into a single flow, and Narnîn held Telperinquar's hand in place with her own, not wanting the moment to end._   
_When they reluctantly separated, the only words that were spoken were:_   
_"Goodbye, Narnîn Elmothriel."_

"Elmothriel? Their Majesties King Thingol and Queen Melian will see you now."  
Narnîn bowed her head in thanks and followed the guard through the stone gate.   
Despite being an underground city, Menegroth was hardly dark or austere. The beautifully hewn caves were illuminated my soft gold light from miriads of lamps. Every path leading through the city was lined with flowers and trees, all nurtured by the power of Queen Melian. Wood seemed to be as much a part of the structures as stone.   
Narnîn even once thought the saw a stream dancing among the tall pillars and trees. As they approached the throne room, she felt an even greater sense of awe overcome her, though she knew not why.  
And then she did.  
Inside the throne room, by the doors stood guards clad in heavy plate armour and wielding long halberds. And on the far side, upon a tall throne hewn from the same stone as Menegroth itself, sat Elu Thingol. To the King's right sat his Queen, Melian, and to his left his daughter Lúthien. There also stood several more elves at the foot of the elevated dais upon which the thrones were, all noble and fair.  
Undaunted, Narnîn approached her rulers, and knelt before them.  
"Hail to you, my King and Queen. And to you as well, Lady Lúthien."  
"Rise, daughter of Eöl," said Thingol in a rich and sonorous voice, "and be welcome in Menegroth. I am told you have news for me?"  
"Indeed I do, my king," answered Narnîn even as she rose, "though I suspect much has come to pass since you have last heard from Nan Elmoth. With your permission, I would recount all that is relevant, even though in may take time to do so."  
"You may have all the time you need, Elmothriel," said the king.  
And so Narnîn recounted all that had happened since Aredhel's arrival in Nan Elmoth. The trio listened intently, with Thingol resting his hand against his chin as if deep in thought, and Lúthien looking at her with such kindness it gave her the strength to go on even through her most painful memories. Even so, she choked up once she mentioned the start of her journey with Tyelpë, and fresh tears stung her eyes. She felt ashamed of crying before her king, and she did her best to bury her grief. But then, Melian spoke:  
"Hide not your tears, daughter of Eöl. They shall help you heal."  
And so Narnîn let her tears fall freely, but her voice did not waver again, even as she spoke of her father's dark deeds and death.   
"It saddens me to hear such news," Thingol sighed once she finished, "I would have never thought him capable of such deeds."  
"Me neither, my king," said Narnîn.  
"And your brother shall stay in Gondolin?"  
"Yes, my king."  
Thingol suddenly stood up. Narnîn bowed low, as custom dictated. When she looked up again, the king had stepped down from the dais and now loomed over her. He was much taller than either her father or Celebrimbor.  
"All that Eöl had owned is yours by right," he said, "Including Nan Elmoth. You shall become my vassal, and rule the forest in my name."  
Thingol's words did not surprise Narnîn. What did was the fact, that she did not want them to become reality. She did not want to rule at all, much less rule a dark forest with herself as the only inhabitant. She wanted to walk the world of daylight, see for herself all the wonders Tyelpë had told her about...  
Tyelpë...  
How far was he now?  
"My King, I am honoured by the faith you place in me, but I must refuse," she said. Thingol's eyes narrowed.  
"I do not recall giving you such an option. Why would you wish to refuse?"  
"There is... someone, whose path leads elsewhere," Narnîn tried to explaid herself, "Someone whom I cannot bear to never see again."  
"And for this person, you would be willing to risk your King's wrath?"  
She took a deep breath.  
"Yes."  
To Narnîn's shock, the king's expression suddenly softened. He smiled.  
"Go," he told her, "Go with my blessings."  
The elf-maid almost laughed in relief.  
"I- Thank you, my king, thank you!"  
She bowed to each of the royal family. Lúthien gave her a reassuring nod.  
"I told you to go," said Thingol, but his voice was kind. And so with one last bow, Narnîn turned around to leave.  
"And Elmothriel?"  
"My king?"  
"This may be the first time we have met, but you are my kin, and therefore a princess of the Sindar. You shall ever be welcome in my halls."  
Unable to voice her gratitude, Narnîn simply nodded, any strode out of the throne room into the vastness of Menegroth.


	15. Melian's Judgement

Eldúath gave a happy neigh when Narnîn returned to him. She had left him some distance from the gates of Menegroth, as he was not used to the company of elves and still refused to let anyone but Narnîn handle him. She gently patted his flank.  
"Rest, my friend," she told him, "We have another journey before us."  
Then she sat down with her back against a tree, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply the sweet forest air.  
Not even an hour had passed when she heard the sound of armoured boots approaching. She jumped to her feet, only to be greeted by one of the guards of Menegroth.  
"Narnîn Elmothriel. The King wishes your counsel at once."  
* * *  
Thranduil Oropherion had volunteered to become one of the guards of the borders of Doriath. Of course he had volunteered. As a prince of the Sindar, he had no obligation to perform such tasks. But he wished to prove himself by skill, not blood. Now however, he was starting to regret his wish. The cause of that was currently on his knees before the grey elf, with a sword at his throat.  
"Who are you to attempt to pass the Girdle of Melian, lachenn?"  
The Noldo did not answer. He looked dishivelled and exhausted, much like his horse who was resting in the forest grass nearby. He had not put up a fight at all when Thranduil encountered him.  
"Why do you intrude upon the lands of Elu Thingol?" the grey elf asked.  
The stranger looked up. His eyes carried a haunted look and had dark rings under them.  
"I am Celebrimbor Curufinnion," he said in a low voice, "I come seeking the one I love..."  
Thranduil's eyes widened in surprise. He had expected silence, or defiance, not this.  
He had barely opened his mouth to speak when he heard the familliar voice of his queen echo in his thoughts:  
 _Bring him to us, Oropherion... The King shall hear him out..._  
Thranduil slowly took his sword away and reluctantly offered the Noldo his hand to help him up. Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow.  
"You are fortunate," Thranduil explained, "Queen Melian herself has granted you passage and an audience."  
This time, the Noldo took the hand and was easily pulled to his feet.   
"Your horse does not look capable of swift pace at the moment," commented Thranduil and at least in this, "You will share mine."  
The Noldo gave him a confused look and said:  
"Are you not going to take my weapons? Are you not worried that I might try to kill you?"  
"What I am worried about is not relevant," replied Thranduil, "What is, is that the Queen herself has deemed you worthy of entering Doriath. Not to mention that with me dead, you would have nowhere to go."  
He smiled.  
"So you may keep your weapons, lachenn. They will avail you little."  
"I am touched by your trust, mellonnen," Celebrimbor said. Then he limped over to his horse and whispered:  
"I have to go on without you now. Rest as much as you need, then follow our trail."  
Thranduil called his own beast over and swung himself nimbly into the saddle. The exhausted Noldo followed suit behind him, if somewhat less gracefully. Thranduil had no idea what those who attempted to pass the Girdle of Melian without leave went through, but after seeing Celebrimbor, he was not at all certain he wanted to find out.  
* * *  
It was only before the doors to the throne room that Celebrimbor's weapons were taken away. He did not protest. After all, he had not been bound and he was still allowed to walk with no-one but the young elf who had found him as a guard. That meant he was not a prisoner. At the moment. He had not really expected to come this far, not even through the Girdle. However, after saying his goodbyes to Narnîn and setting out on the journey home, he had found that would never forgive himself had he not at least tried to return to her.  
"You are not to speak unless spoken to," Celebrimbor's escort told him, "and I would not recommend any sudden movements either."  
Celebrimbor nodded, and the other elf knocked upon the doors in a precise pattern.  
They opened.  
And so it came to pass that Celebrimbor finally stood before Elu Thingol. He vaguely registered the King and the two ladies sitting by his each side, for another drew his gaze. Narnîn had exchanged her armour for a flowing black gown with a silver sash around the waist and a silver circlet on her brow.  
As soon as their gazes met, she took a quick step towards him, only to be stopped by one of the silver-haired courtiers.  
Then Thingol's voice resonated throughout the chamber:  
"You have entered my realm by the grace of my Queen and the pleas of my kinswoman only," he nodded to Narnîn, "I have received the Sons of Fëanor in my halls before, Curufinnion, and I have not forgotten their threats, nor their crimes."  
Celebrimbor did not falter under the king's diamond-hard stare. He was tired of everyone judging him by the actions of others. But he also knew that there was time and place for him to argue his case, and this was neither. So he bowed his head and said:  
"I know, your Majesty. Allow me to offer my sincerest apologies for my family."  
"Have you risked coming to Doriath only for this?" the king asked doubtfully.  
"No, your Majesty. I have come to propose something that might mend the relations between the Doriathrim and the Sons of Fëanor."  
He took a deep breath.  
"In the absence of both her father and her brother, I would ask you for the hand of Narnîn Elmothriel in marriage, if she is willing."  
If the chamber was silent before, now the absence of sound was thick enough to cut with a knife. Celebrimbor looked to Narnîn, who returned his gaze with glistening eyes. Then she gave him a nod and a smile so genuine and radiant that he could not but smile back. The two then looked to Thingol anxiously.  
"What assurance do I have, son of Curufin," the king said, "that this is not a part of some scheme of your kinsmen to gain power in Doriath?"  
This time, Narnîn could not be restrained. She stepped before Thingol.  
"My King-" she objected, but was cut off by Celebrimbor, who adressed Melian:  
"My lady," he said earnestly, "it is said that you see into the hearts and minds of Eldar. Surely you can see that my intentions are honest?"  
The maia was silent for a moment as the duo's eyes pleaded with her. Then she spoke:  
"I see no ill will within you, Silver-hand, that much is true. It is the only reason I took pity on you as you tried again and again to pass my enchantments. I can also see that you shall do many great things, but whether for good or ill, I cannot say."  
"I see," said Thingol, "I trust your judgement in this, my lady. What say you?"  
Celebrimbor suddenly felt Narnîn's hand grip his own firmly.  
Melian smiled:  
"I see no harm in allowing this union."  
"Then I am decided," said the king before either of the two could process what Melian had just said.  
He stood up and turned his gaze to Narnîn.  
"Elmothriel, do you accept my word as you would that of your father?" he asked.  
"Yes, my king."  
"And you love him?"  
"With all my heart," she answered without hesitation.  
A ghost of a smile touched Thingol's lips.  
"Then I would be happy to grant your request, Silver-hand."  
The next thing Celebrimbor knew, Narnîn had thrown herself around his neck and the two held onto each other as though they never intended to separate again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mellonnen - my friend  
> lachenn - flame-eyed (sindarin name for the Noldor)


	16. You are my Light

Celebrimbor Curufinnion and Narnîn Elmothriel took their vows just days later, in a green glade in the forest of Region. There were next to no guests, as neither had any friends in Doriath. Notable exception was Thranduil, whom Celebrimbor had invited in his joy immediately after meeting him again outside the throne room. There was also Elu Thingol, who had agreed to take Eöl's place and place Narnîn's hand into her new husband's, as he was now her closest living relative, apart from Maeglin. Despite his initial distrust of Celebrimbor, he now treated him as an honoured guest of Doriath and seemed quite willing to accept him as his kin by marriage.  
To everyone's surprise, the king had brought with him someone familliar to Celebrimbor.  
"Artanis..." he breathed out, "I had thought you lost."  
"I am called Galadriel now," she replied with a smile, "I am glad to see you again, cousin."  
"You were in Doriath all this time?" he asked.  
"Yes. Much like you, I have found love among the Sindar."  
"Then there is still some good in this world..."  
"There always is," said Galadriel, "Never doubt that."  
And so, with the blessings of the Hidden King and the Lady of Light, Narnîn and Celebrimbor bound their fates together before Eru.  
Long after their vows, when they were left alone in the glade, Narnîn looked upon the setting sun with sadness in her eyes.  
"What is it?" Celebrimbor asked.  
"It saddens me that you cannot again behold the light of Aman in this life."  
He took his new wife by her shoulders and placed a soft kiss upon her brow.  
"You are my light," he whispered, "As long as I am with you, I will neither need nor wish for any other, even if the Two trees grew anew."


End file.
